You Give Me Strength by Breathing
by emi-d-123
Summary: When Merlin is captured by slave traders, it is a week before Arthur, still injured, can escape the castle to go after him. But the Fates are cruel, for the very day Arthur departs is the day the market begins - and Magic sells quickly. Merlin is already injured, and when he takes captives from a village under his wing, the stakes get even higher. Post-reveal AU, Merlin whump.
1. Chapter 1

One week.  
Seven days.  
One-hundred and sixty-eight hours.  
Ten thousand and eighty minutes.  
Sixty-four thousand, eight hundred seconds.

Being right-handed and only allowed to use his left, it took Arthur nearly an hour to work all that out. So now it was one-hundred and sixty-nine hours, or ten thousand and... His arm ached too much to work out the rest. The point was that it had been a long time and he had to find a way to distract himself while he was bedridden. Well, not really _bedridden_. Gwen had just posted six guards _out_side his door and ordered them to keep him_ in_side. She worried about him, saying he couldn't just "go running out into the woods and get into all sorts of trouble and hurt yourself far more than you'd be of any use and really you shouldn't worry because all the knights and half the guards are out looking it won't be long at all, now go back to bed or I'll get Gaius and he'll slip something into your drink so you won't wake up for a month and besides it's only been a few hours and for Pete's sake Arthur stop pacing!" But it had long since passed a few hours. The slavers had come, attacked and gone a week ago and _they had taken Merlin_.

He had done his waiting. His sprained ankle was fine, his arm sturdy enough in the sling, the knock to his head was no longer even minutely irritating, and all other various cuts and bruises had healed over (mostly). Every day Gwen came in and reported no leads had been found, and every day he grew more and more frustrated at how_ ridiculous _the whole situation was!  
It was high time for the king to take some action.

"Guards?"

"Yes, sire?"

"I'd like to request a visitor. Get me Sir Gwaine."

* * *

Gwaine was angry. No, he was livid. Actually, he was burning internally with pure, unadulterated rage.

Not that most people would have seen it, of course. But Arthur spent nearly as much time with the knights as he did with Gwen, and he could read Gwaine's fury in the stiffness of his posture, the fingers almost twitching in the need to reach for his sword, the way he kept flicking his hair out of his eyes, and the fact that he steadfastly refused to look at the king.

"You called for me?"_ God_, thought Arthur,_ He's too angry even to insult me._

"Ah, yes. I need you help with something, I-"

"I'm sorry, Sire," Gwaine interrupted. _Titles now? This is really bad_. "But I'm heading the next search party in an hour. Perhaps another knight could help you." He turned to leave, but Arthur grabbed his shoulder before he could get out the door.

"No, Gwaine, I need you to cancel the search party."

"What?" Gwaine shouted, and a week's worth of pent-up anger, fear, and frustration exploded out onto Arthur. "You want me to stop looking for _Merlin_? For my best friend? For yours? He's out there, somewhere, waiting for someone to come save him and God knows _why_ he can't help himself, if he's injured or worse! But you've just been sitting here, licking your wounds and moping for a _week_ while half the bloody kingdom has been out trying to find him! That clumsy fool has saved my life, and yours, and, _hell_, the whole of Camelot more times than I can count, and you just want me to_ give up_? I don't give a _damn_ if you're the king, because if you really mean that, then you can take that shiny crown of yours and shove it _right_ up your sorry -"

Arthur clapped his good hand over Gwaine's mouth. "I need you to cancel the search," Gwaine struggled in his grip, but Arthur just glared. "I need you to cancel the search so no one will be in the way when we go find Merlin ourselves," he whispered. "I can't get out of here without Gwen and Gaius finding me in an instant, so I need your help. Now, will you help me, or are you just going to keep shouting like a bloody _madman_?" Gwaine nodded. Arthur wasn't sure what that meant, but he hoped it was good, so he tentatively moved his hand away from the knight's mouth.

Gwaine broke into a huge grin. "You should have said something sooner, Princess!"

* * *

_Six days ago_

The first thing that Merlin noticed about his situation was that it was dark.

The second was that he was gagged and chained to something rough at his back.

Not good, then.

Slowly, he began to come into full consciousness, his senses finally taking note of what was going on around him (and also of a dull throbbing at the base of his skull, but he wasn't bleeding as far as he could tell, which was good). It was definitely night time, and the smell of earth and rustle of the wind and leaves told him he was outside, probably in the forest. There was a murmur of voices somewhere in front of him, and he could smell smoke from a fire. A campsite, then? But how did he get . . .

Oh, right. The patrol. For once, he had actually been glad to ride out on patrol with Arthur and the knights. They had been receiving reports for days of bandit raiders, but only the day before had they received any definitive news. It appeared they were not so much bandits as slave traders, raiding villages for "wares," and from one woman's report, the specialized in one thing – Magic. Newly-freed magic users were easy to spot, and some ruthless slaver had seen the new corner he could take over in the market with magical slaves. As soon as they were given a definite area as to where the slavers were working, Arthur and the knights set off to root out the ruthless practice before anyone else got any wise ideas. Merlin, of course, tagged along to carry things, as usual. Well, that was the official story. Once the ban on magic was lifted, Arthur and Merlin had quite a long discussion on what exactly had been happening during ten years' worth of opportune unconsciousness, mysterious absences, and shoddy explanations. And at the end, they both agreed upon the fact that, while they could tell people that Merlin had magic, there was no way they should reveal his true abilities. If the identity of Emrys was common knowledge, Merlin feared that Camelot would become a target. Arthur feared that Merlin would become a target – not that he could ever say. So Merlin stayed as Arthur's personal manservant, and if he happened to provide magic-related information in situations such as these, well then surely it was just something the clumsy fool had picked up from Gaius?

The point is that while the slavers could not possibly have known who they had really captured, Merlin was still quite defenseless in the magic-suppressing chains. He shuddered to think of what had been done to the metal to force it to do something so unnatural, but that wasn't helping him get any further away from the camp, and any closer to Camelot. Then someone stoked the campfire, and the sudden flare of light combined with loud, rowdy voices and the pounding in his skull lead to a vicious crescendo of pain, and he was unable to hold back a groan.

"Hey, sleeping beauty's finally awake," a gruff voice called. "Bill, check on 'im, woudya?" Someone stomped over and grabbed Merlin by the hair, forcing his head back so they could see each other.

"'E's alive, ain't that good enough?" Bill called back to the fire. "Dunno what Callam wants 'im for, anyway. Ain't nobody's buyin' with the King on patrol."

"Yeah but _'Is 'Ighness_'ll get lazy, them lot always do. Then when folk start buyin' again we'll 'ave 'im good n' trained," someone else cackled. "I 'ope you can stand up to that one, sorcerer." Bill let go and Merlin's head flopped down onto his chest. His head_ really_ hurt, and there was an aching in his ribs, not to mention how sore his ankle was or the stings of countless cuts and bruises. _Captured, injured, and magic-less_. _You really have done it now, Merlin_. And with that cheering thought, he slipped back into the relative bliss of unconsciousness.

* * *

Hi, this is the first fic I've ever properly written down. I'd love any kind of criticism, I need to know what to improve on. Apologies for anything British that I messed up. I'm American, but I've watched enough BBCA that I think i'm getting the hang of it. Also, I'm looking for beta, if anybody would be so kind?


	2. Chapter 2

"This is quite possibly the worst idea you've ever had, Gwaine."

The knight grinned. "I think it's a stroke of genius, myself. No one wants to even _think_ about touching your armor."

Arthur eyed the large basket full of armor warily. "Will I fit in there? Can you even carry it?"

"Yes, and nope. But it's a basket full of bloody armor, it's not like I could carry it even without you. I'll just drag it and say you've got an extra set in there or something if anyone asks. Besides, Princess, have you got a better idea?"

"We could go out the window."

"It's broad daylight and the square is full of people."

"Knock out the guards and make run for it?"

"Gwen will have a dozen more on us in an instant."

Arthur sighed. "I don't know Gwaine, it's a weak plan."

Gwaine snickered. "It's better than Percival's idea." Arthur frowned. Did he even want to know? "Put you in one of Gwen's dresses and say you were my sick aunt!"

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to ward of the quickly growing headache and chose to ignore the dress comment. "Why does Percival know, exactly?"

Gwaine looked up from where he was digging around for spare bits of armor to put in the basket. "You were there when they attacked, right? As much as I'm honored you think me such a brilliant swordsman, there's no way I can attack a full slavers' camp, rescue Merlin, and get the both of you out unharmed singlehandedly."

"I can cover myself!" Arthur growled.

"Not with one arm, Princess. Now come on, we want to be out of here before it's dark, right?"

Arthur eyed the basket warily, but threw on a cloak and clambered in anyway. Gwaine began to pile bits and pieces of armor inhaphazardly on top. Grabbing the basket by the handles, he began to lug it towards the door. "Y'know, I think Merlin's right," he grunted. "You are getting fat."

"Shut up, Gwaine," came the muffled reply.

Gwaine pulled the basket out the door and sauntered right past the guards (as well as when can saunter while crouched over dragging a basket of armor and walking backwards). One guard gave him a questioning look, but he just mumbled something about new servants and their ability to care for armor and kept walking. They'd made it all the way through four rooms and down three hallways before they were met with the one hitch in the plan. Gwaine swore. "_Stairs._"

"_Gwaine!"_ Arthur hissed. "Does this genius plan of yours honestly not have any way of getting me down the stairs?"

"Er . . ."

It was Arthur's turn to swear. "I'll just have to walk. If we're quick and keep to the back roads then we should be out of here before they even notice we're gone." Gwaine didn't have a better plan, so he pulled the king into an alcove and helped to free him from the basket. Arthur stood up and stretched, popping several things Gwaine was fairly sure weren't supposed to pop, and pulled the hood of his cloak up. "Let's go."

* * *

_Five days ago_

When Merlin next came around, it was daylight, and he was freezing.

It appeared to be just after dawn and none of his captors had awoken yet, so he took the opportunity to observe his surroundings in more detail than the night before. The camp was small, consisting of only one tent and a campfire in the middle of a small clearing, with a cart just on the edge, which Merlin was currently chained to. Approximately a dozen men lay sleeping in various places around the camp, the nearest one about three yards away, presumably guarding him (he had a nasty looking cutlass stuck in the dirt beside him, and looked like he knew how to use it well). There were no other captives there as far as Merlin could see, which meant he, Arthur, and the knights and found the slavers just after they had made a large sale. Merlin grimaced. Yet more people he could not save. All in all, it did not amount to much. There was nothing that could be of any use in escaping, or even telling him where in Albion he was.

He began, as best he could, to take stock of his injuries. His left ankle was badly sprained at the very least and he probably had a few bruised ribs on his left side as well, but nothing worse than a small fracture. The random cuts and bruises that came with a fight should be no worry, but there was his head wound. He reached up and felt the aching lump just above his temple where the hilt of a sword had finally knocked him out. He _had _actually been bleeding, despite his thoughts the night before. The dried blood running down the side of his face itched like hell, and he briefly wondered if they would give him any chance to clean it. He wouldn't be any use to them if he died from infection, now would he? It seemed, then, that his biggest issue would be if he had a concussion. With the apparent long period of unconsciousness, his less-than-clear thinking last night, and the nausea this morning, it seemed like a very real possibility. He just hoped they wouldn't try to make him walk too soon - between his head and his ankle and the cold air he wouldn't get very far.

The murmur of voices drew his attention back to the camp. The slavers had started to wake, and one kicked Merlin's guard awake before stomping over to the cart. He sneered at Merlin before tossing him a stale lump of bread and heading back to the now-roaring fire. Merlin attempted to pull his jacket tighter around his thin frame in a vain attempt to conserve body heat. He forced himself to eat despite the strong possibility the bread would come right back up again because there was no guarantee they would feed him again anytime soon. By now, the camp was already packed away. There would be walking then - probably very, very _long _periods of walking. At least they let him keep his shoes, unlike the last time he and Arthur had been captured (but between his magic and Arthur's stolen sword, it wasn't a very long term of imprisonment).

One thug stomped over and dumped the tent in the cart at Merlin's back. "Up, _sorcerer,_" he spat. "We're moving."

Merlin opened his mouth to protest, but then someone whipped the horse into movement and he was forced to scramble to his feet in order to prevent being dragged along behind the cart. His left foot refused to take his weight, however, and he collapsed with a sharp cry of pain. The one with the whip stopped the horse and then turned his fury on Merlin, screaming "Up! Get _up, _filth!" Somehow, Merlin managed to pull himself up while trying to shield his face from the blows. By leaning heavily on the cart he was able to stand and shuffle along, and the caravan started moving again. For hours, he was pushed, shoved, and dragged, but could not move any faster than his (_definitely _fractured) ankle would allow. It was just past noon, and his throat was too dry even to plea for the water he desperately needed when he collapsed again.

"Stop!"

The man dragging Merlin to his feet abruptly dropped him to the forest floor and the caravan ground to a halt. He was too occupied with attempting to right himself that he didn't even notice they had stopped. Suddenly, someone was helping him up, brushing the dirt from his shoulders, and asking if he was alright. He was too parched to respond.

"Calm yourself, laddie, it's me, your dear friend Callam. I'd be in charge of this band of ruffians if they listened to me once in a while. I apologize for their . . . treatment of ye." Callam was tall and ragged-looking, with flaming red hair and a scraggly beard. He sounded as if he was quite concerned, but then Merlin looked into his eyes. So dark brown that they were almost black, they held no emotion, no kindness. He was the master, behaving kindly so long as he thought his dogs would listen, but ready to inflict a firm hand if they ran too far. He wasn't worried about the man in front of him. He was only worried about how much less he'd be worth if he was injured. "What's the problem here, eh?"

Merlin just glared.

One of the thugs spoke up. "He ain't walkin' fast enough, Callam."

"And why's that?" Thinly veiled anger backed the question, still directed at Merlin, who still refused to answer. "Tell me, boy! Think you're gonna slow us down? Think your friends will catch up and rescue you?" He shook Merlin roughly by the shoulders and threw him against the cart. Merlin's ankle decided this was too much (again) and he slumped to the ground. "Ah, I see," Callam snickered. "You're injured. Come on, boy, get up. You can still walk." He hauled Merlin to his feet, but his ankle really had taken more than it could bear, and he fell. Callam dragged him up again and shoved him forward"Come on boy, _walk!_"

Merlin forced one word past his parched lips - "_Can't.__"_ He curled in on himself, clutching at his ankle. It was _throbbing _now, so much so that he doubted he could even get up again.

Callam sneered. "So you do talk, then." He looked around at the men. "Rior!" The cutlass-bearing guard stepped forward.

"Sir?"

"Get him in the cart. We've got five days to get to the market, we can't afford to have him slow us down."

Rior unlocked the chains from the cart and hauled Merlin to his feet. He struggled weekly though he knew it was in vain, but he just couldn't let the caravan move any faster. Arthur might lose the trail. Rior dumped him unceremoniously in the back of the cart, and Callam moved back to the front of the group. "Get moving!" He shouted. "We've got to make up for lost time." Merlin struggled to pull himself into a sitting position and stared out the back of the cart. _Please, Arthur, _he prayed, _hurry._

* * *

The ending is rushed, but I didn't know what to do with it. Thank you guys so much, though! I've had over 300 people read this since I uploaded it, and it's only one chapter! Special thanks to TeganL74, whose review inspired me to upload this a week earlier than I planned. I'm going on a trip soon, but I hope to have one more chapter uploaded before I leave.

DFTBA!


	3. Chapter 3

**Edit 2/20/13: I noticed minor continuity details - like one minute it's noon, then it's midnight, and then it's dusk, so that was just fixed. Nothing major changed.**

* * *

Getting out of Camelot was easy. Far too easy for Arthur's taste, in fact. Sure, there had been a few close calls – a maidservant thought she recognized him, and one or two guards question Gwaine, but none even tried to stop the hooded stranger lurking in the shadows in broad daylight.

"This is ridiculous," Arthur muttered.

"Don't complain now, Princess, you can fuss at all the bad little soldiers later." Gwaine answered. "Besides, we're sneaking _out._ It'd be a very different story if someone were sneaking _in."_

Arthur doubted it.

Percival met them at the edge of the Darkling Woods with horses and provisions, and Arthur and Gwaine immediately became serious. None of the men felt the need to talk as they set off, instead they focused all their senses on the forest around them. Over the week, the scene of the attack had been combed over countless times, but they refused to believe that there had been no clue, nothing to point to even a general direction that the slavers had traveled. Wordlessly, the knights began to scour the area, looking for anything – a broken branch, a foot print, torn fabric, anything.

Hours ticked by, and sill they came up with nothing new. The sun was merely a sliver of red in the sky when Percival managed to force Gwaine and Arthur to sit, eat, rest. Still, none of them had made a sound. Wordlessly a fire was lit, dinner cooked and eaten, dishes cleaned and bedrolls pulled out. Each man knew, when he looked at the other, that there would be no need to assign watch duty.

There would be no rest for them tonight.

* * *

The next morning, Gwaine spoke.

"This is pointless. We know there's no way to track them here, they scattered in the attack."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Arthur growled.

"There has to be somewhere else. Maybe the last village they raided? There were people left behind, they may have heard something."

Arthur laughed bitterly. "Oh yes, I'm sure. I bet they were burning homes and attacking villagers while happily discussing their route. Any man walking by could have simply asked where they were going. Who knows, maybe they even gave some old woman a map, just in case she got curious!"

"Well have you got any better ideas?" Gwaine snapped as he stormed over to Arthur. "It's not like you've done anything useful so far, _sire._ We've been searching for _days_ without you and come up with nothing. But _no_, the brilliant King Arthur will know so much better than his toy soldiers!"

Now the two men were right in each other's faces, knuckles white on the hilts of their swords. "Are you suggesting," Arthur shouted, "That I was -"

"Both of you!" Two heads turned at the same time to glare at Percival. "Trying to kill each other is not helping Merlin. If there's no trail here, then we move on. And we focus on why we're here – on _who _we're here for." The King and his knight had the grace to look sheepish, if only for a second. Immediately afterwards, they were packing up camp and pulling out maps, attempting not to look at each other.

Percival looked on with smug satisfaction.

Arthur rolled out a map of the kingdom and pinned the corners down while Percival rummaged around in the remains of the fire and pulled out a stick that wasn't too badly burned on one end.

"So we were attacked here," he said as he marked the spot with a large X. "But the attack before was _here_." Now he marked a spot several miles to the south and west.

"There was a report two weeks ago from another village, about right there," Gwaine pointed, and it was again marked.

"And one from just north of the White Mountains," Arthur mentioned.

"And another from just south of them," Percival remembered. They went on and marked every location they could think of, until a rough line of smudged charcoal appeared, starting on the shores of the Seas of Meredor and traveling in a wavy path north east through Camelot. Though the caravan had zigzagged its way across the kingdom, there was now a very clear direction, even a general destination. The jagged path cut straight towards Mercia.

Arthur quickly rolled up the map and made to saddle his horse. "Come on, we've got a long way to go."

* * *

The cart rumbled its way across the terrain for hours without stopping. A half-filled water skin was tossed in to Merlin about midday, and he was careful to preserve what little of the precious liquid there was – his captors didn't seem too disposed to help him any more than was necessary to keep him alive until market day. He drank a few drops every hour or so, and used a little to try and clean the now scabbed-over head wound. All the same, it only lasted him until dusk. By then the caravan showed no signs of stopping, so Merlin drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, Callam's mood appeared to have turned with the weather. It was colder, wetter, and . . . Merlin groaned. Even in the downpour, he could clearly see a small river valley behind the caravan that had definitely not been in view the whole day before. They'd trekked through the whole night, covering miles of extra ground. Just then, Callam's eye turned on him. He jerked Merlin up and pulled him out into the pouring rain. It was only because of the rest the day before that his ankle didn't give out again, though he still grunted in pain as his full bodyweight was forced onto his bad leg.

"Get walking, boy, you're not a guest," Callam yelled. "You've had plenty of time to rest, now I won't see no slacking."

"Then I'll be sorry do disappoint you," Merlin retorted.

Callam pulled him so close that Merlin could count the crumbs stuck in his thick beard. "Don't try and be smart with me," he snarled. Merlin balked at the stench of his breath.

"Not trying to be smart, just stating the facts," he said. "I'm injured. I've got medical training, give me some time and a few materials and I promise I'll be able to move quicker." As much as he was loath to speed their travels, Merlin knew he had no choice. He'd had plenty of time to think, and he'd realized that Callam wouldn't give him any medical attention of his own volition, and if he continued to move with his ankle in such a state he probably wouldn't be able to keep up when help came. And it _would _come, he was sure. Arthur had probably saddled up the whole army and was already on his way. Surely, _surely_ he would get help soon.

Callam stared at Merlin for a long moment before abruptly shoving him away and grunting for Rior to, "get the bloody cripple what he needs." Merlin gave him a brief list – really, he only needed to make a rough splint – and was dumped unceremoniously back in the cart. Rior took his sweet time, coming back an hour later, but he had what Merlin needed, so he didn't complain. Merlin struggled to bind his own ankle tight enough to be of any use, but with some rather impressive contortionism he managed it. He doubted that it could hold for very long, but the slave traders obviously hadn't stopped to rest the night before, so they'd have to stop that night and he'd have time to do repairs. And if he pulled the buckles on his boots as tight as he could it held a little better, and it only twinged a bit when he walked. All the same, he was relieved when Callam called a halt around noon.

Until he saw why.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle, and would probably clear away completely within a few minutes. Through the cloudy gloom, he could see the wood opened up to reveal a large field. Perhaps a hundred yards away, stood the fuzzy outline of several houses. Seeing the hungry looking on the traders' faces, a cold knot of dread settled in his stomach. It didn't take long to figure out what was going on - few people were buying, but if you had more wares, you had a higher chance of selling.

They were going to raid that village.

Merlin's heart thudded in his chest, his mind was racing. The slavers were completely silent, drawing out soot-blackened weapons and crouching low to sneak up on the little cluster of homes. Some, in anticipation of the rain stopping, had brought unlit torches and flint. Dear God, they were _grinning, _positively gleeful at the prospect of burning this village to the ground and roping up as many innocents as they could along the way. Merlin glanced around. The slavers were almost halfway to the village, and they had left him behind with the cart and four men, who were too busy grouching at being left behind to pay him any attention. His mind whirled, there had to be _something _he could do. Magic was obviously not an option, and the chains were locked tightly to the cart, so he couldn't even take the slim chance of trying to sneak off and reach the village before the traders could. Without even stopping to think of the consequences, he took the only option he had left.

Merlin took a deep breath, opened his mouth, and yelled.

He had no time for words, just a long shout into the cloudy gloom as loud as he could be. Rior jumped up and slammed his boot into Merlin's stomach, winding him. He gasped and wheezed to get air into his lungs, and when he looked up, the slavers were upon the village. But it had been enough to warn the villagers that something was wrong. Men and women were stumbling out of their homes, armed with pitchforks, kitchen knives, or just a handy lump of firewood and attempting to hold off the thugs – and not doing too badly, either. Then Merlin noticed a small group of villagers break away from the pack and run for the woods.

They were running straight towards the cart.

The whole village working together may have been enough to hold off eight or nine of the bandits (it really was tiny, and the bandits obviously knew what they were doing) but this small group of perhaps eight people would be no match, not if they were caught unawares, and only two of them even appeared to be armed. Merlin had finally gotten his breath back, so he pulled himself onto his knees and shouted again. Rior had finally had enough and clouted Merlin on the back of the head with the hilt of his cutlass, landing a kick to the ribs at the same time that had him back on the ground again. The world kicked and bucked like a startled horse, but Merlin could still see the group of villagers trying to run away. The reserve force of bandits took off and was upon them in seconds. All were in the mud and bound before he could even sit up again. He discovered quickly that that was a bad idea – two blows to the head in three days (or was it four?) did not sit well. Rolling waves of nausea hit him, but before he lost the little he'd had to eat, Merlin slumped back against the side of the cart and blacked out.

He woke up a half hour later, just as the last of the captives were being shackled in beside him. They'd managed to capture a dozen in total, and Merlin found himself between a young man and a sobbing little girl who couldn't have been older than ten. He opened his mouth to try and give her some form of comfort, when his vision was suddenly full of Callam.

"You little _bastard,_" he screamed, giving Merlin a vicious punch in the eye to add to his list of injuries. "You lost me half the wares I could have got from that village! That little stunt will cost you _dearly, _my boy!" He pulled Merlin up and wrapped his hands around the warlock's throat. Merlin fumbled with the fingers at his throat but he couldn't seem to get a grip. Callam just kept squeezing tighter and tighter, he couldn't breathe, he pulled him closer, the grin widened, his lungs felt like they were collapsing, his heart _thudthudthud_ed in his chest faster and faster, his vision blurred, he choked, tried to scream, air, _dear God he needed air!_

Suddenly he was on the ground, gasping as precious oxygen flooded into his lungs. Callam stood over him still. "No," he muttered. "If I'm going to have a chance at making any money at market I'll need you. You're the only magic we've gotten out of this run, after all." He leaned in close to Merlin, who was still struggling to focus past _Air, I can breathe, sweet oxygen. _"But let that serve as a lesson, my boy. Folk only look at the _ability_ when it comes to magic, they don't worry too much about the _condition _of the wares." He spit in the mud and turned away.

Merlin had recovered enough to sit back up now, and he was no longer gasping for air. His eye was already starting to swell shut and it felt like a sidhe was flying around in his head swinging a mace, but he would be fine. Weak sniffling and gentle murmurs reminded him of the new prisoners around him. The young man on his left was leaning as far as his could around Merlin without touching him and whispering words of comfort to the little girl.

"Calm down, Freesia. You're not hurt anywhere, are you?" She shook her head and rubbed furiously at reddened eyes. "Don't worry, I'm here. I'll look after you, I promise. Our garden's still got a few flowers left." Worrying about their flower patch shouldn't really have been an issue at the moment, but Merlin figured whatever calmed the poor girl down would help.

"'M cold," she mumbled. She had dark hair, probably would have been brown if the sun was out, and green eyes dulled by shock. Her dress was soaking wet and didn't even cover her goosebump-covered arms. And she was so small, far too young to have to experience something like this. Merlin reached up and untied his neckerchief, still mostly dry thanks to his jacket, and held it out to the little girl.

"Here," he croaked. "Not much, but it'll cover your shoulders, at least." She nodded her thanks and attempted to adjust the tattered red cloth around her shoulders. She jumped when Merlin tried to give her a hand, but the boy behind him smiled and she consented to let him help. "My name's Merlin," he said softly. "I'm from Camelot. What's your name?"

"'M Freesia," she whispered.

"That's a very pretty name. You're named after the flower, then?"

"We all are," the boy broke in. Well, now that Merlin really looked at him, he really wasn't so much younger than himself. Maybe early twenties, but not much more. He was generally darker than the girl – deeply tanned skin, dark hair, and eyes so brown they looked almost black. "I'm Kay." He held out a shackled hand and Merlin shook it as best he could while trying not to tangle their chains. "Yeah, the Lady Kay flower. Me mum thought I was girl, refused to change the name when she saw me," he cracked a small smile.

"You lot!" Rior shouted over, "Up! Get walking."

Merlin scrambled up with a grunt. "Come on, they move fast." He helped Freesia to her feet as Callam whipped the horses and the cart lurched forward, dragging along those too slow to rise. The other slaves stumbled around them muttering curses or muffling sobs or simply staring blankly ahead as if it hadn't quite hit them yet. Most of them were women, but another older man had come with Kay, both of whom were doing their level best to appear confident and unafraid. Kay only partially succeeded.

"Where are you from?" Merlin asked. "I've lost all sense of direction, I've no idea where we are."

"Jinafred. It's a tiny village, about a half a day's walk inside Mercia's borders," Kay answered.

Merlin nearly choked. "We're in _Mercia?"_

"Yeah, and heading deeper into it, I'd say. Roughly northeast."

Merlin groaned, partially out of frustration and partially because walking wasn't doing anything to help his injuries.

"You're from Camelot, did you say?" Kay continued. "How long have you been with this lot, then?"

"Maybe four days? I don't know for sure, I've been in and out a lot. They like hitting me in the head," he answered, pointing to the thick scab above his temple.

"I know the feeling. That's how they got a lot of us," Kay rubbed the back of his own head ruefully. He noticed Freesia sniffling again and abruptly chained the subject. "What do you do in Camelot?"

"Oh, er … I'm a manservant to - to one of the knights. Sir, um, Gareth."

"You work in the castle? That's pretty amazing!"

Some of the slavers around them perked their ears up at that one.

"No, no, not at all," Merlin answered quickly. "My master's rather new to the Table, he lives in the lower town. Only King Arthur's most trusted knights actually live _in_ the castle."

"But you must spend loads of time there," Kay pressed.

"Not nearly as much as you'd think," he replied through clenched teeth. This boy couldn't seem to take a hint - having ruthless slave traders know you were possibly privy to information that could bring down a kingdom is not _what you want in this situation!_

"Oh." _There_ he goes.

"So what do you do?" Merlin asked, hoping the thugs would lose interest. Thankfully, they did.

"Me? I hunt. There's a proper town not far from here, I go up and sell what I can catch. Pays well when the weather's good." Merlin hummed agreeably.

"I'm a seamstress," Freesia piped up.

"Really now?" Merlin asked. "You're very young to be having a job."

"I'm eight," she glared at him. "And I'm not a proper seamstress, not yet. I'm an apprentice with my aunt Poppy."

"That's very nice." They chatted amiably for a while, nearly forgetting why they were all there in the first place. Though the rain had stopped, dark clouds stubbornly refused to move, so the small group had no way to tell the passage of time. Many long hours of walking later, however, it had gone from gloomy to downright dark, and Callam halted the caravan.

"Right, you lot," He said, grinning too wide, like a wild animal. "I'm you're dear old Uncle Callam, I'll be your guide for this little jaunt. Me friends here," He swung an arm out to encompass the thugs stomping about setting up camp or sharpening blades by firelight, "will make sure none of you wander off and get lost. I'd be careful, if I were you. They can tend to be a little . . . unsavory. Master Rior here will be serving you a lovely dinner, and then we'll all settle down for the night." The false smile dropped off his face so quickly it might have never been there at all. "But if any of you cause any trouble at all, well – magic boy there can tell you _exactly _how well we take to disturbances." The group looked over to Merlin and many winced. _Must look worse than I feel, _he thought. But then when the really thought about it, he actually felt much worse than he realized. He slumped down against the side of the cart and closed his eyes. A little rest, then he would address his injuries and try to help the others as best he could.

Kay and Freesia had other ideas. "Wow, Merlin, I'm sorry we didn't even ask. Are you really alright?" Kay whispered.

"You look awful," Freesia added helpfully.

"It looks worse than it feels," Merlin answered, not entirely untruthfully. The bits of him that hurt the worst they couldn't see very well. "I just need to fix . . ." He fumbled pulling off his muddy boot, frowning at the makeshift brace. Mud and rainwater had seeped in, combined with the long hours of walking had loosened the cloth so that it was barely even holding up any more – it was only thanks to what was left of his boot that he had been able to travel as far as they had. "Damn, nothing to fix this with," he hissed.

"Here," Freesia handed him the now-dry neckerchief. Merlin raised an eyebrow, but didn't comment as he went about ripping it into several long strips to bind with.

"Do you know how to do that? My father taught me some basic medical stuff."

"I've got it," Merlin answered. "Had more than a bit of medical training myself." He was done within a few minutes, and relaxed against the side of the cart with a sigh and closed his eyes. "Is anyone else hurt?"

Kay looked around at their fellow prisoners. "Few bumps and scrapes, doesn't look like anything more. They got most of them before we even had a chance to fight back." Rior came by and gave each a bit of bread and glare, leaving them to their discussions.

Merlin popped one eye open. "Where were you all going, anyway?"

"Kay was helping me fix lunch for the workers," Freesia answered. "We heard someone shouting and he looked out and saw all the men coming. We ran and tried to get all the people away from the village."

"My Uncle Sage was just outside," Kay continued. "We got all the women out of the house and were trying to get to the town, or at least a road. We had no idea they had a reserve force," he grimaced.

Freesia turned to her cousin with a foreboding sniffle. "Mummy was in the back. Did someone get her out? I never saw her."

A flash of emotion crossed Kay's face, but he covered it quickly. "I – I think I saw some of the neighbors helping her into the fields. I'm sure she's fine, Freesia." The lie was obvious in his voice, but the little girl didn't notice, instead smiling and snuggling unabashedly into Merlin's side, falling asleep almost instantly. Kay reached around and stroked her hair softly. "Don't worry. I'll make sure the garden keeps its flowers," he whispered as she drifted off.

"What is 'the garden?'" Merlin asked.

Kay chuckled a little. "It's our family. You remember I said everyone's named after plants? Well, when Freesia figured that out, she said we were just like a big garden. And so that became our little thing. Talking about the garden always calms her down."

"And, if you don't mind my asking, what really happened to her mother?" Kay looked shocked, and Merlin smiled. "Come on, I know a bad liar when I see one. Can't say I'm very good at it, myself, actually."

Kay sighed. "You can't tell her. It would kill her."

"I know," Merlin replied.

The boy stared off into the trees, back in the direction of his home. "I think . . . I think we're the only ones that survived. We're not fighters, our village is mostly farmers and a few hunters. We were overrun, Uncle Sage and I only got these few out by luck, and the rest they obviously caught from the survivors. And her mother . . . Aunt Rose has been very sick for a while. She can't hardly sit up by herself anymore, much less walk. There's," he chocked. "There's no way she got out of there. It's just us, now."

Merlin placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We _will _get out of here, Kay. I promise you that. And I'll come with you to find whoever is left. And there _will _be someone left, there always is." Kay nodded, eyes already drifting closed. He leaned onto Merlin's shoulders and was soon snoring. Merlin, for his own part, was exhausted, but his mind spun with worries. Not only did he have to worry about himself, but there were a dozen others he had to help now. Suddenly, a quick and quiet escape sounded much harder.

_Hurry, Arthur. And you'd better be bringing some knights with you, you prat._

* * *

**I'm sorry, I'm late! But I couldn't finish in time for the trip, and then there was work and school to catch up with, and then I found ****_Paper Towns... _****I'm sorry. But, on the bright side, long chapter! Have fun with that!**

**Dates will get confusing soon, so, if day 1 is the day of the attack, it's been:**

**Chapter 1: Arthur - day 7; Merlin day 2**

**Chapter 2: Arthur day 7; Merlin day 3**

**Chapter 3: Arthur day 7, day 8; Merlin day 4, day 5**

**I'll add the days to the top of each chapter from now on.**

**DFTBA!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Arthur – day 8**

By the end of the day they had seen some evidence of the caravan's travel. They obviously weren't following the exact path of the slavers, but just when they began to think that maybe they were heading in the wrong direction, Arthur caught a glimpse of wheel marks stamped over by feet in the soil. Then, a few hours later, Percival uncovered the hastily hidden remains of a campfire. But at the end of that day – the eighth since Merlin's capture – Gwaine made the worst discovery of all. He'd been gathering wood as the others set up camp when he found more wheel marks, but also something very disturbing. A faded piece of red cloth lay trampled in the dirt – the same red as the shirt and iconic neckerchief Merlin had been wearing on the day of the attack. Gwaine remembered because Leon had joked that they wouldn't be able to lose the warlock in his bright attire (and Leon even _chuckling_ was a rare thing indeed – a joke had been very noteworthy). Abandoning the firewood, he snatched up the tattered piece of fabric, no larger than his little finger, and raced it back to their makeshift camp.

"He was here!" He shouted, startling his friends. "They definitely brought him this way, look." Arthur snatched the piece of cloth from the knight's hands, analyzing it carefully in the fading light. Gwaine watched as the man's face went from joy, to cold calculation, to fury, in less time than it took to blink.

The king turned to his knights, mouth set in a grim line. "Look at it." Percival took it as Gwaine squinted over his shoulder and gasped. Though extremely dirty and torn, one half of the cloth had turned a rusted red, a colour all three men were horribly familiar with – blood. Merlin had traveled this way, yes, but he had traveled injured. Arthur groaned and pulled at his hair. They knew Merlin had been here, they knew he was hurt, they almost knew where he was going, and they had to get to him now. But they had also been traveling the whole day, hardly eaten, and not slept the night before. How could they help him if they were half dead by the time they found him? Percival noticed his distress.

"We want to get after him just as much as you do, sire," he said. "But we need to rest. We don't need to make full camp or anything, just sleep for a few hours and be on our way as soon as possible."

Gwaine glared, clearly ready to ride until the horse dropped and then continue on foot until he dropped as well, but he couldn't argue with the logic of the statement. "We leave before dawn," he stated flatly. Arthur volunteered for first watch, resigning himself to another restless night.

* * *

**Day 9**

Gwaine nudged Arthur into consciousness before the sun had even begun to think about rising. Percival was already up and saddling the horses, and the men were off within half an hour. The tracks Gwaine had discovered the night before seemed to continue on straight for miles, unlike the half-trampled spots they had found before.

"I wonder why it's different?" Percival asked no one in particular.

"It rained," Arthur answered. "See how much deeper the wheels were going? That's why we can see it better. The ground's plenty hard now, it must have been mud when they passed through. This is far enough away from Camelot or any towns that they wouldn't have had to worry about being spotted. No reason to be careful, so they probably would have moved as fast as they could."

Gwaine looked thoughtful. "Hold on," he muttered. "When was the last time it rained?"

"Four days ago, I think… Oh no."

"Four days."

"We can't be _four days_ behind!"

"Oh, no Gwaine I'm just lying to you. Why the _hell_ would I make that up?"

"I don't know, maybe because you're such a bloody_ ar_-"

"Oi!" Percival pulled up between them. He didn't need to say any more, Arthur and Gwaine consented to glare daggers at each other and try to outride the other without actually breaking into a full-on gallop. Percival sighed. He loved these men, he really did, but sometimes? Sometimes he felt like an overworked mother with two petulant children.

Later in the afternoon, they were pacing up and down a riverbank, hoping to find someplace that the horses could cross. The tracks had run out in the loose gravel, so they had no way of knowing how the slave caravan had made it across, but they reasoned it had to be somewhere near. Suddenly, Gwaine hissed. Arthur and Percival looked up and followed his pointing finger to see a group of people moving steadily towards the river. Arthur signaled to hide, and they crouched low behind the rocks and watched as the group approached.

The people stopped further north on the bank than the knights, wading through slow-moving water that didn't even reach their knees. But as soon as they crossed, they turned south and started moving straight for the cover of the trees.

"They look like they're in a hurry," Gwaine muttered, eyeing the group suspiciously.

Percival turned to Arthur, "Perhaps, Sire, we should go . . ."

"See if they're in need of assistance?" Arthur finished. Gwaine smirked, leaping out of their hiding place and running out to meet the people. "No, Gwaine, I meant -," Arthur groaned and looked at Percival, who shrugged. "Damn him," but they followed the shorter knight all the same.

"Hello, good sirs," Gwaine called out. "How are you this morning.?" No one answered him, as if they were deliberately being ignored. Arthur slid to a stop next to Gwaine, keeping an eye on the fast-approaching group. They were probably about a dozen in all, with only one horse between them, hitched to a rickety cart.

A very familiar rickety cart.

Arthur leaned in and whispered to Percival, "That man – the one on the horse – does his hair . . ."

"Look a little red to you, too?" Percival finished.

Gwaine's grin grew so large it looked as if his face would split in two. A cackle – and honest-to-God _cackle_ – burst from his lips. "I call first swing at the bastard."

"Keep an eye out for prisoners," Percival warned.

"You get first swing, but _I_ get the _last_," Arthur finished.

Without hesitation, the three men drew their swords and attacked.

The slave traders were experienced, to be sure, but the Knights of the Round Table were renowned for a reason. They fought as one man, defense and offense at the same time, holding their own and quickly gaining the upper hand. Gwaine and Arthur stood back-to-back, drawing in their enemy while Percival took on those who fancied themselves craftier. Arthur was busy dispatching a burly thug with a cutlass whilst simultaneously searching for any sign of his missing warlock. His eyes swung around the rocky shore, taking in every rock and bush, the bodies on the ground, the cart listing over to one side . . .

The cart – the horse – the horseman was gone!

"Gwaine," he shouted over the melee, "Gwaine, the horseman – where is he?" No response. "Gwaine?" Arthur spun around, realizing he had drifted away from Gwaine in his search, and now searched frantically for his knight. He spotted the shock of Camelot red among three bandits, struggling to hold them off.

"I'm a little busy," Gwaine grunted. Arthur darted forward, taking one man out from behind while Percival appeared out of nowhere to finish off another, leaving Gwaine to easily dispatch the third. And suddenly, there was no one left for them to fight. Gwaine sighed and wiped his sword on a dead man's tunic. "What were you saying, Princess?"

Arthur blinked. "The horseman, their leader! He ran off when we attacked." Three pairs of eyes scanned the horizon.

"There!" Percival shouted, pointing to a quickly-receding smudge in the distance. "He's long gone, now."

Gwaine swore and kicked the broken cart, which fell apart completely at his blow. "No sign of Merlin, either."

"Merlin?" A harsh, choking laugh sounded from their feet. "Looking for magic boy?" Arthur looked down to see a thug leering up at him, a large red stain blossoming on his stomach. "You won't find 'im here."

Arthur crouched next to the man and grabbed his shoulders. "Where is he?"

Another laugh, followed by a harsh, wet cough. "Sold 'im yesterday. Nice bit o' profit he made, even wid all the trouble."

Despite himself, Arthur grinned. Of course Merlin wouldn't have made it easy on his captors. He only hoped whatever trouble the warlock had caused hadn't ended up costing him more than it was worth.

Percival leaned over his king, growling. "He asked _where_ is he."

"You won't be gettin' that'un back," the man whispered, flecks of blood appearing on his lips. "Lord Gaheris's very proud of 'is possessions. 'E'd kill 'im afore he let you lot take 'im."

Arthur shook the man. "Where does this lord live? Tell me!"

The thug laughed again – a harsh, rattling noise that was more air than sound. "Y-you," he stammered, "you lo-lost 'im. Eeeee's good's dead." His eyelids flickered, his breathing hitched, and the man was gone.

Arthur sighed and slumped into the dirt. Merlin had been sold – _sold_, like he was a simple pack animal. Their only lead was a name that none of them had heard before, a lord in a hostile country who was apparently not averse to cruel treatment. Any trader with information was dead, save one. The one man that Arthur wanted dead most of all, the one he wanted to drag back to Camelot in chains and watch as he begged for his life in the dungeons below the city, the one who was truly to blame for so much pain and suffering, had escaped. He'd left his men to die and run off, and Arthur knew that he could disappear into any town or city without difficulty. Finding him would be like finding a needle in a haystack.

But he would be found.

For now, Arthur knew that they had to focus on finding this Gaheris and bringing Merlin home. But when his servant-adviser-warlock-friend-_brother_ was safe and sound –

The king would not rest until he had that red-haired man.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go."

"Where do you plan on going? We don't even know who this guy is," Gwaine answered.

"We'll follow the way the caravan came, see if they passed through any villages."

". . .And see if someone there knows him," Percival finished.

Gwaine perked up the slightest bit. "A village, eh?"

"No," Arthur sighed, "You are not . . ."

"Allowed in any taverns," Percival finished with a grin.

"You two really are starting to scare me with that."

* * *

**Merlin – Day 6**

Merlin's fifth day with the caravan dawned even darker and drearier than the one before. Even Kay was quiet, something he hadn't been totally sure was possible unless the boy was asleep. The clouds had returned, thicker and heavier than the first storm, and every once in a while a lone snowflake would drift lazily down to earth. Merlin and Kay had managed to twist around and get Freesia between them, standing as close to the small girl as they could in a vain attempt to protect against the bitter wind. It may not have been the best position for walking, as they had left the relatively flat forest again and headed onto uneven, rocky ground, but they were marginally warmer.

Merlin stumbled, landing awkwardly on his injured ankle, and swore as he tumbled to the ground. Kay snatched Freesia to keep her from falling as Merlin's chains tugged on her own. The warlock gritted his teeth and scrambled upright, favouring the bruised ribs on his side. He wondered how much longer his protesting body would hold up under the constant strain and low nutrition. It was hardly mid-morning, and already his breathing was heavy and ragged. The multiple injuries were starting to feed off of each other until he was sure there wasn't any part of him that didn't hurt in some way. Kay and Freesia weren't looking much better – in fact, none of the captives did. They hadn't stopped moving until midnight the night before, and Callam had them up and walking at the crack of dawn this morning, leaving all of them completely exhausted, though they hardly even dared to hope for a rest. The slave market had begun that morning, and it would take at least another day to get there if they hurried. However, as Merlin looked around, he wondered whether they would make it in time. The long walk and short rest period had taken its toll on both captives and captors, so all struggled to keep up the rapid pace Callam wanted to move at, and it helped that some of the older villagers were careful to walk slower, and even stumble from time to time in an attempt to delay their arrival even more. All the same, by the early afternoon they were at the foot of a mountain range – just on the other side of which, Callam happily informed them, was the slave market.

As they began their final trek, the wind positively howled among the rocks. Huddling was pointless now, but that didn't mean Merlin and his friends wouldn't try. Having been assured that one of the boys would catch her should she lose her balance, Freesia shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her thin dress.

"Ow!" She whipped her right hand out almost immediately and started sucking on the tip of one finger.

"What?" Kay whispered.

"I left a needle in my pocket," And sure enough, she pulled out a thin piece of gleaming metal to show them.

A spark lit up in Kay's eyes. "Freesia, give me that," she handed him the needle obligingly, and the young man took her wrists in his hands, holding the shackles close to his eyes. After a quick glance around to make sure none of the traders were looking, he slid the needle into the lock and wiggled it around. Several agonizing minutes later, there was a soft click, and the cuffs popped open. "Hold them on your wrists Freesia, and don't make a sound." He quickly went to work on his own chains, and then Merlin's. It was so difficult not to remove the revolting metal as soon as he had the chance, but Merlin knew that if they were to attempt an escape, they'd have to keep up pretenses as long as possible. He kept a sharp eye on the guards around, making sure none of them had noticed anything suspicious. His magic flickered inside him, anxious to be released. He forced himself to relax and wait for the right opportunity.

In the meantime, the needle was being passed around to the other prisoners, who quickly and quietly freed each other. Kay warned them to keep their chains on, and twisted round Freesia to talk to Merlin.

"Right, so now what do we do?"

"Well, there's too many of them for us to fight," he whispered back.

"Couldn't you, you know . . ." Kay glanced towards Merlin's bound hands.

"Not right now," Merlin sighed. "I've had these things on for days. Maybe I could take one or two with the advantage of surprise, but I'm just not strong enough right now to tackle them all. I'm sorry."

Kay frowned. "S'not your fault." They faded into silence, simultaneously scheming and watching their ever-slowing captors. Suddenly, Kay looked up. "We can't fight, but couldn't we just make some commotion? You could magic a distraction or something and everybody runs off in different directions."

It wasn't a terrible plan, as plans go, Merlin thought. He definitely knew of a certain prat who'd had worse ones. But looking around at the exhausted prisoners, he wasn't sure they could even run very far. Most of them were women who worked in the home, they wouldn't have the strength to fight back if it came down to it. But they didn't have much other choice. "Alright. But make sure no one runs off completely alone." The boy nodded vigorously. "Tell them to scatter when I give the signal, but to stay off the road at all costs. You, me, and Freesia will head that way." He pointed to a rocky outcrop off the path far ahead of them.

"Right, what's the signal then?"

The warlock smirked. "Oh, you'll know!"

* * *

"Be ready to run, Freesia," Kay whispered to his cousin. They had walked for a few more minutes after Merlin's cryptic comment, but he didn't appear ready to cause any sort of major distraction. That is, unless one happened to notice that instead of staring blankly at the ground as he had been doing for the past few hours, his eyes were now darting around in every direction, taking note of every man, woman, child, rock, bush, and basically anything that might help. But Kay still didn't know what the plan was.

_CRACK_

"What the hell was that?" One of the slavers called.

Another resounding _crack_ rent the air, followed by heavy rumbling that was quickly growing louder.

"Run! _Now!_" Merlin cried, and the captives scattered in groups of two or three. Kay took off towards the rock Merlin had pointed out earlier, dimly noticing that the traders were running as well – though not exactly to catch their prisoners, it looked more like they were running away from something . . . Suddenly, Freesia tripped in the loose gravel. Before she'd even hit the ground, Kay had caught her up over his shoulder and was running again. He could now barely hear Merlin's ragged breathing under a roar of noise, though he didn't know where it was coming from. "Almost . . . there!" Merlin said.

And suddenly they were there, tumbling to the ground behind a pile of boulders, and the rumbling had ceased. "What . . . was that?" Kay gasped.

A cheeky grin lit up Merlin's face. "See for yourself."

Kay peered over the rocks, looking back to the road – but it was gone. What once had been a clear, if jagged, path, was now a pile of rubble probably forty feet high. "You - you did that?"

"All it takes is one rock in the wrong place!" Merlin answered, and then quickly became serious again. "They won't be long in recovering, we'd better get moving." After a quick glance to satisfy him that the coast was clear, Kay took Freesia by the hand and darted quickly behind a nearby bush, with Merlin following close behind. They continued on in silence for a while, darting quickly from one bit of cover to the next. The warlock's eyes flashed gold at least a dozen times, and after each spell he would walk a little straighter, run a little faster. The sheer amount of magic made Kay wonder if Merlin had perhaps been more injured than he had let on. Either way, it didn't matter now – they were free.

They were just about to make a dash across a particularly long, vulnerable stretch when Kay felt Merlin's hand snag the back of his coat. "Wait," he hissed in Kay's ear. "Do you hear that?" Straining his ears, he listened for any unusual noise. Very faintly, behind them, there were loose rocks being shifted.

"Someone's coming?"

"It looks like there might be a cave up ahead. If there aren't too many of them I should be able to hold them off from the mouth." Kay hesitated to agree, but there really was no other option. He knew Merlin would try to fight off the traders and follow him and Freesia inside, but there also was the possibility that he wouldn't make it. But Kay just couldn't let Freesia be captured again.

Freesia sniffled. "You're coming too, right Merlin?"

"Of course I will," he answered quickly. "But you two are in no shape to fight. But come on, we have to move _now_."

He was right – they'd tarried too long. Kay leapt up and dragged his cousin along in a mad dash towards the supposed cave, but it was so far ahead, and they'd been moving so long, could they even make that distance? A quick glance behind revealed that three thugs had now spotted their little group and were racing after them.

"Just . . . a li –_ AGH!_" Searing pain erupted in Kay's leg and he dropped like a stone. He looked up. One of the traders was reloading his crossbow, the last bolt of which was currently embedded in Kay's right calf.

"Kay!" Freesia shrieked.

Merlin slammed to his knees next to the boy, pressing his hands around the wound to try and stop the bleeding. "Go, Freesia, I'll look after him!"

The girl hesitated. "But . . . the garden, we're supposed to stick together . . ."

"We'll be fine! Hide until the caravan has gone and find someone from your village." Still, she didn't move. "Go!" A flash of gold and a stiff wind sent her stumbling towards the cave, tears streaming down her face. But she was not pursued.

The slavers were on Merlin and Kay in an instant. The warlock stood, ready for a fight, but the crossbow was now pointed directly at Kay's heart.

"One spell and I'll kill 'im," the archer spat. Merlin looked between the three traders, with those horrifying shackles at the ready, and Kay, bleeding and struggling weakly in the dust. He grit his teeth and slowly raised his hands in surrender.

"No!" Kay shouted. "Get out of here, Merlin, I –" A swift kick by one of the guards had him unconscious, and cold metal clicked around Merlin's raw wrists a moment later. With a sword at his back and Kay over a slaver's shoulders, he was marched back to the pile of rubble that had once been a road.

* * *

"And let that be a lesson to you!" Callam screamed. "You get one more chance, magic boy, before I gut you like a fish!" He threw Merlin bodily into the back of the rickety cart and stomped away, mounting his horse and starting the caravan moving with a lurch that sent Merlin's stomach rolling.

His hands were now chained behind his back, and his feet had matching shackles as well that allowed him to do little more than shuffle along at a snail's pace – presumably why Callam had not forced him to walk this time. His latest 'lesson' had been even more brutal than the last. His lip was split in two places, the cut on his head had opened up again, there were definitely at least three bruised ribs to add to his others, which might even be fractured by now. There were fresh bruises laid over the old ones on his neck, and others all over his arms and torso. Callam had at least left his legs intact, though he had now lost his boots. If he was forced to walk again, he could, but he would not relish it.

Looking out the back of the cart and squinting through his good eye, Merlin could make out Kay limping along with the four other prisoners that had been recaptured. He was thankful he had been allowed to treat the boy's wound, otherwise he surely wouldn't have been able to keep up and been left for dead. All the same, Merlin could see in the dying light of evening that Kay was not doing well. Recapture along with the loss of Freesia had devastated the boy, leaving him in total silence since they had returned. He hadn't even made a sound when the crossbow bolt was pulled from his leg. At least they knew the girl wasn't dead. The slavers had brought back any they could find, so surely Freesia was hiding and could find someone from her village. She had to get home. She _had_ to. And Kay had to know this – or he might just lose himself.

"She'll be fine," Merlin whispered hoarsely. "Someone who escaped . . . they'll find her." The only acknowledgement he got was a jerk of the head, more like a nervous twitch than anything else. But it was enough. Kay was still here.

But for how much longer? They'd be at market the next day. Merlin shuddered. He had to come up with a plan, figure out how to save them. But he had been moving all day, and there was no food or water, and his head was pounding, and he was so very tired . . .

Merlin was still asleep when the caravan arrived at market the next afternoon.

* * *

So I finally got this up! Sorry, it took even longer this time, but this chapter just really didn't want to be written. On the bright side, I have a made-of-awesome beta, Starkid191! Hopefully having someone to report to will make me write faster. Thanks for all the help and support!

DFTBA


	5. Chapter 5

**Arthur – day 10**

After the miniature river valley, the land turned wide and flat. Arthur, Percival, and Gwaine rode as hard as the horses could bear until they could no longer see the land ahead. Upon waking the next morning, they struggled to saddle the horses with frozen fingers; the sun mocked them, offering plenty of light but no heat to ward off the bitter cold. The land around them stayed unchanging for hours – short, dead grass extending for miles in every direction, ending only at a dark rim of tree line encircling the plains. In the distance, murky grey mountains rose up into the sky like the forbidding walls of a fortress. There weren't any clouds overhead to break the monotony of the cold, blue sky above.

"Are you sure we're going the right way?" Gwaine muttered.

"You don't need to _whisper_," Arthur snapped, although he didn't speak at his normal volume, either. It was as if the incredible stillness of the place demanded silence. "But yes. This road has to lead somewhere."

Percival knew Arthur wouldn't tolerate a response (and with a glare, made sure Gwaine knew as well), and they faded into silence, riding for hours without speaking a word. The sun had long since passed its zenith when Percival urged his horse just a little faster, squinting to see further ahead.

"Do you see that?" he asked quietly.

"What, more grass? Trees?" Gwaine responded sarcastically.

"No, look closer."

"I dunno, maybe a smudge?"

"Are your eyes really that terrible?"

Arthur smirked. "If you could actually see, Gwaine, you'd know -"

"- That the smudge is smoking." Percival finished.

"Oh."

Arthur picked up his pace, "Come on, if we hurry we can get there before nightfall. Maybe someone will know this Gaheris."

Arthur's timing estimation was correct, but only just so - the sun had dipped behind the mountains and the sky was grey and quickly fading to black by the time they emerged from the thin tree cover hiding a small village. There wasn't much left of it to hide, though.

It had obviously been attacked very recently. Few windows still had shutters to block the wind, and several buildings had only long curtains to cover the doors. The roof of the solitary barn was only kept from caving in by some hastily built scaffolding, and every building and field was blackened with soot and ash. A score or so of villagers had gathered around a bonfire in what was left of their square to share a meager meal. When the people saw the three knights ride up, mothers ushered their children inside and the men picked up the nearest heavy object, ready to defend their homes again.

"Peace," Arthur called, raising his hands in the air has he slid off the saddle. "We mean no harm to you, we ask only for a place to sleep tonight."

"We're ready to pay for your hospitality, or work for it," Gwaine said.

A middle-aged man with a wooden staff stepped forward. "Who are you?"

"We are knights of Camelot. This is Sir Percival, Sir Gwaine, and I am Sir . . . Lancelot," Arthur lied. Gwaine quirked an eyebrow but said nothing as Arthur comntinued. "We're looking for a friend of ours, he was recently captured by slave traders."

The man turned to whisper with a few of the villagers for a moment, and despite himself, Arthur found he was straining his ears to hear what they were saying.

"If we took away . . ."

" . . . could really pay?"

" . . . know, we need the work . . ."

"But without the grain . . ."

" . . . Agreed?"

The man turned back to address Arthur, who hastily tried to appear as if he wasn't eavesdropping. "We have no beds, but you can have a roof over your head and one for your horses if you can pay – and also give us your weapons until you leave."

Arthur looked to Percival and Gwaine, the three of them holding a silent conversation.

Gwaine pursed his lips._ Not sure I like that idea._

Arthur raised an eyebrow. _Do we have another choice?_

Percival gave a small smile and glance at the villagers._ I'm sure we could take them if we need._

Gwaine cocked his head. _Do we really want to trust them with our swords?_

Arthur shrugged._ We need the information._ He unbuckled Excalibur's sheath from his belt, carefully giving it to the villager. Percival and Gwaine reluctantly copied him, also handing over their two crossbows and a handful of daggers.

"We'll be out of your hair in the morning," Arthur promised.

* * *

Percival groaned and rolled over, struggling to adjust his bedroll in a way that might actually provide some warmth. It was well past midnight and he'd only been able to sleep for minutes at time, between the cold, Gwaine (the man snored louder than a bloody avalanche), the horses (the villager – Briar, wasn't it? – failed to mention that their roof and the horses' roof would be one and the same), and his own thoughts.

Arthur was more standoffish, and dare he say it, more of a prat than ever. This was perfectly understandable, of course, given the circumstances, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with him. The knight constantly had an eye on his king, just to make sure that the king didn't lash out and slaughter the nearest thing that moved.

Gwaine dealt with worry the only way he could – by talking. He would prattle on for hours, nonstop if he could get away with it, rubbing Arthur so raw Percival would have sworn the man could spontaneously combust. With some persuasion, however, he could be kept in hand, but it was Percival who had to do all the holding.

Which left, of course, how Percival was handling the worry himself. He was a no-nonsense man, completely confident in Merlin's abilities to fend for himself. If it were just Merlin with these slavers, or even with Gaheris, Percival was confident the warlock could keep his head until the knights caught up. The problem, however, arose when other people appeared. Merlin would probably aid a wyvern if one asked (though that was a question – with the whole talking-to-dragons thing, could he handle wyverns? Percival would have to ask, later). There hadn't been anyone with the caravan when they had attacked, but who knew what had happened since then? The village was smack in the middle of their path and had obviously been attacked by someone, so it didn't take much guesswork to see by whom.

If Merlin got himself killed trying to help some cranky old geezer keep up, then Arthur would strangle him.

Percival sighed. There was no way he was getting any sleep like this. He hauled himself up, and wrapping his Pendragon-red cloak tightly around his shoulders, stumbled outside for a breath of fresh air.

He nearly tripped over a little bundle of cloth just outside the door of the barn – their accommodations for the evening – and then realized that it wasn't a bundle at all. A little girl with bright green eyes peered up at him, squeaked, and backed against the wall. Tear tracks ran down her cheeks, and more threatened to spill if the way she was looking at Percival was any indication.

"Hey, it's alright," He whispered and crouched down to eye level. "I'm sorry I nearly stepped on you. My name's Percival, what's yours?"

"F-freesia," she stammered.

"It's quite cold for you to be out tonight, Freesia. Maybe you should go home."

The tears came fresh, and Percival struggled to understand her under the choking sobs. "I c-can't. It's no-ot right w-w-without Mummy hic there. And – and Uncle Basil and_ K-Kay_! I ju-u-_hic_-just want them _back_ but they're_ hic_ gone, an-and I didn't even g-get to say _bye_."

"Woah, calm down, dear." Percival placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, dwarfing the poor girl even more. "What happened?"

Freesia took a few deep, wheezing breaths before continuing. "It's a bit_ hic_ of a long story," she said.

Percival shrugged. "I've got plenty of time." He sat down next to her against the wall of the barn, wrapping his cloak around both of them.

"It was six days ago, I think," she sniffed and rubbed at her eyes. "I was helping my cousin Kay make lunch for the workers, when all these men came running into the village. They had torches and knives an-and things. Kay made me run out for the big field past the trees, and him and Uncle Basil got some other people and followed. I d-don't know where Mummy went. I-I'd almost got to the trees and somebody started yelling. Then more men came out and they grabbed me and put metal things on my wrists. See?" She held up her arm, scratched and raw nearly up to her elbow. Percival seethed inwardly - she was just a _child._ "Uncle Basil and Kay tried to fight and some of the other people got away, but the men got them real fast. Then we walked for a long time, but the men never told us where we were going. There was this other man with us, but he was a nice man, with a funny face - all ears and smile and stuff. He had metal on him, too. Gave me a scarf thingy so I could warm up."

Percival tensed. If that wasn't Merlin, he'd eat his sword. "Do you remember his name?"

Freesia screwed up her face in concentration. "I-it was funny, too. Nervin or something?"

"Maybe . . . Merlin?"

"Yes! You know him?" She beamed

"My friends and I are trying to find him."

Freesia turned and clamped her tiny hands on his shoulders. "You _have_ to! Kay's with him! We tried to run away but Kay got hurt and Merlin made me keep running. Th-they could be _anywhere_, and they were just –"

"We will find them, Freesia, I promise." Percival said gently. He might - though he would deny it til the day he died - just possibly, have been getting a little teary-eyed himself (but it must have just been something in his eye). The little girl curled up against the giant knight's side, arms clasped tight around his neck.

"Good," she yawned, eyes already closed.

Arthur walked out of the barn the next morning to find Percival, wrapped up in his cloak, snuggling with a little girl, both soundly asleep.

* * *

**Merlin - Day 7**

"Merlin."

"Ugh, five more minutes, Gaius."

"_Merlin_."

"What, can't His Royal Pratness dress himself?"

"Merlin, you're really starting to worry me. Come on, look at me, please!"

Merlin cracked his eyes open and stared blearily at the face above him. "What?" He blinked and the face grew a little clearer, but when he reached up to rub at his eyes, he found he couldn't. "_What_?" Someone grabbed his wrist and held it firm, sending a flash of pain up his arm. "Ow, _wha_t – oh." He groaned as his mind caught up with the rest of his body and the memories came flooding back – pursuit, capture, escape, recapture, and that damn_ Callam_. "Kay?"

Now his vision was clear and he could see the young man's face break into a grin. "Oh, thank God! I thought you were having fever-dreams. How do you feel?"

He helped Merlin sit up, apologizing every time the warlock winced. "Let's just go with 'alive.' Better than dead. Where are we?" They were no longer on the road, at least. It was a room, low-ceilinged and windowless, with walls of what may have once been grey stone but which were now mottled green and brown with mold and water stains. There were no guards that he could see, only him, Kay, the other prisoners, and a thick wooden door.

"Dungeon," Kay answered. "You've been out of it for hours, we've gotten all the way to Hemlig, to the market. Got here late this afternoon. The guards said they don't take new sellers after one o'clock, you should have_ seen_ the fit Callam raised – went absolutely berserk." The boy shuddered. "God, it were scary. Ranting and raving, and his eyes were _re_d, Merlin. It was the freakiest thing I've ever seen." He shook himself, pushing past the memory. "Anyway, he ended up throwing us all down here – literally in your case, I'm afraid –"

Merlin winced. "Yeah, I can tell."

"Said we're goin' to market first thing in the morning. That was hours ago, must be night by now."

"How's the leg?" Merlin asked, abruptly changing the subject.

Kay rolled up the leg of his trousers (Merlin wasn't sure whether to be proud that he was feared enough to be the only one still shackled, or to be worried about it) to show the rough bandage. "Not too terrible. I can walk, looks like it should be fine so long as it doesn't get infected." He glanced toward the door as if he could see through it to tell if anyone was listening. "Look, I've been to market before, I've seen how it goes. It's an auction, each person in a group can get sold off to a different person." He leaned closer to Merlin, whispering. "_But_ hardly anyone buys for themselves – they send trustworthy slaves to do it for them. If we can talk to whoever we end up with, we might be able to convince them to take the rest of us, we're not exactly a big group. Then we can keep an eye on the women until we see a chance to break for it."

Merlin frowned. "That relies entirely on us getting sold first."

Kay hesitated before replying. "Well . . ."

"What?"

"I said I've been to market before, right? It's sort of been more than once." He chanced a quick glance at Merlin. "Never buying, 'course not. But . . . I've watched. And there's always a pattern. Magic first, while folk still have plenty of money. Next on the block is men, and then women last 'cause they go for cheap. So we'll definitely be the first to go."

"Right," Merlin sighed. "And until that pleasant experience, we're stuck down here?" Kay nodded.

"Guards outside?"

"Six. Two sorcerers, if the cloaks are anything to go by."

"Any breaks between here and the block?"

"Nope. Stairs out of here lead straight up to behind the block, and there's plenty of guards the whole way. All solid stone walls, too."

"And after?" They'd have to escape before they were too far from Hemlig or they'd never find each other again.

Kay sighed. "Very little. The whole square is surrounded by guards, and of course they keep the chains on everyone. Maybe on the way out of the city, there'll be fewer guards and all kinds of folk milling around, but the problem is getting away from the handler."

"Well, there's very little we can do about it now," Merlin said. "Get some sleep."

Kay looked up at him quizzically. "You don't want to work out a plan?"

"Oh, I've always got a plan," he replied.

"And what's that, then?"

Merlin grinned. "Make it up as you go along!"

* * *

**Day 8**

Had he been able to see outside, Merlin supposed the sun would have been just beginning to rise. He'd hardly slept at all, while Kay was snoring loudly next to him, having been out within moments of the end of their conversation the night before. The only other person who appeared to be awake was an older woman. She and Merlin regarded each other silently, contemplatively, before looking away, leaving each other in a mutual silence. They both understood, more than anyone else in the room, what was going on, and what would happen.

Merlin was not a fool, despite many suggestions to the contrary. Kay had given a very sparse description of their surroundings, but even with his comparatively cheerful outlook on things, it was clear that Hemlig was heavily guarded against escape. Merlin looked over at the boy, whose sleeping form had slumped against the wall and was now supported by the warlock's bony shoulder. He didn't deserve this, to be worked to death as another's property. He was maybe, what? Nineteen? Twenty? Hardly any older, and only just barely becoming a man. he had a family to find, a life to build, along with all the other people locked in the tiny cell with them. They had whole worlds ahead of them and there was nothing, _nothing_ that could give that back to them. Unless . . .

Arthur. Arthur could plan an escape better than anyone. Hell, the man could probably break out of the city with nothing more than a wooden spoon if he set his mind to it. But that required Arthur to_ be here_, so where was he?

What if he couldn't find them? Callam had been very careful to leave as minimal a trail as possible, but Elyan was a better tracker than all of the hunting hounds put together. Besides, very few kingdoms in Albion allowed slavery, and even fewer cities held markets. No, finding them couldn't be the problem.

Speed, then? Perhaps the caravan had moved more quickly than Merlin had thought, and Arthur and the knights couldn't catch up. But they had stopped at least three times that Merlin remembered, and a caravan that size was fairly slow. Compared to five or six men on horseback, it moved at a snail's pace. Even if they had left a day or two after the initial attack, Arthur and the knights should have caught up by now.

In the darkness of that cramped dungeon, cold dread trickled down Merlin's spine. What if no one was coming at all? After all, he hadn't been able to pay much attention to the fighting, someone clubbing his temple had put him down rather quickly. What if the knights had been hurt? What if _Arthur_ had been hurt?

What if . . . what if he'd been _killed_?

Merlin's breathing hitched. No, _no_! He would know, wouldn't he? Arthur was his bloody destiny, he would know if he had - if something had happened. He had known that Arthur was in trouble while Merlin was unconscious and _dying_, he couldn't possibly have missed that! But then again, he didn't remember helping Arthur get out of that cave. He hadn't known it had happened at all until Gaius had told him, afterwards. He had been unconscious for hours after the slavers' attack, what if he _had_ felt it and missed it? A strangled sob tore itself from Merlin's throat, and he would have curled up in a ball if he'd had the freedom of movement.

Arthur might be _dead_, and he would never know.

"Wake up, me beauties!" Callam strode in to the cell, all bluster and bravado and cold calculation. This could be the man who had done it, who had robbed Merlin of his best friend and he didn't even have the decency to tell him. He could almost see the blood dripping from his hands. "Look lively now, you'll all be going home to good new mummies and daddies today. Uncle Callam will miss you _ever_ so much!" His false grin morphed into a snarl faster than you could blink, and he started shouting and kicking out at the prisoners still on the ground. "Up, get _up_ you lazy bastards before I beat the living daylights out of you! Move!" The slaves quickly shuffled out of the cell, meekly accepting the shackles that guards clapped on their wrists as they left. Merlin, however, made it a point to be the last person out of the room, leaving him almost alone with Callam.

"You," he growled at the slaver, and Kay turned around to stare at Merlin, wide-eyed. "I will destroy you, if it is the last thing I ever do." Callam just stepped closer and sneered.

"Just say one more word, and you won't get the chance."

"Merlin!" Kay called, and he lunged back into the room to grab the warlock by the collar, dragging him away from the slave trader. "What the hell were you doing?" He whispered harshly.

"Making a promise. A promise that I intend to keep."

* * *

"Our first lot up today, ladies and gents, and I hope you've got plenty of gold, 'cause he's our only magic for today, and a damn sight powerful, if I do say so myself!" Callam's personality had once again changed, he now fell into the role of confident salesman. Merlin was hauled unceremoniously up the steps onto a rickety wooden platform covered in dark stains that he really didn't want to examine too closely. Callam threw an arm about his shoulders as if they were the best of friends, all the while listening to the crowd mutter and check the fullness of their purses. "But I suppose you lot don't believe me, eh? Well, here!" He grabbed Merlin by the chin and forced him to turn so they were facing each other. Harsh words slithered out of the man's lips, clearly foreign and unnatural on his tongue.

_"Drýcræft béo dodenuve."_ Callam's eyes flashed a dark, poisoned yellow and flickered back to brown almost instantly. He turned Merlin's face to the crowd, and by the time he knew what was happening it was too late to try and stop it. Merlin felt his own magic rise up behind his eyes, burning far brighter and clearer than Callam's ever could, golden and clear enough to be seen right across the square. The crowd gasped and surged forward, shouting and clambering over each other to try and get their bids heard.

"You – you _bastard_," Merlin spluttered. "How could you! You're a _sorcerer_ and you -"

"Quiet!" Callam screeched and silenced him with an elbow in the stomach. Curling in on himself, Merlin struggled to get his breath back and only Callam's vice-like grip on his arm kept him from falling over. The slaver turned back to the crowds and started the auction for Merlin's life. "Now, bidding starts at two thousand gold pieces. Who's got it? Yes, you there. But do I hear another five hundred? Twenny-five hundred, anybody? There we are . . ."

Merlin eventually got his breathing back under control but didn't try to speak again – he was too busy seething. Callam specialized in kidnapping and selling _sorcerers_, and Merlin knew from personal experience that he treated them far worse than any of the rest of his slaves. To Callam, those who knew magic were less than human. Yet, he had the gall to exploit their craft to earn more profit? The spell was simple, to be sure – it pulled magic to the surface, allowing others to see it and to see how powerful the subject was – and anyone with even a minimal amount of magic could counter it (if they didn't have these damn chains on), but all the same. Merlin's hatred for the man doubled.

He was so focused on his thoughts that Merlin didn't even notice when he'd been sold – a bit of a shame, really, he did want to know how much he was "worth." He only realized it when a burly guard grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and pulled him down into the crowd. The people barely parted enough for the tow of them to move, and several were not embarrassed to reach out and snag bits of Merlin's hair or clothing, as if to make sure he was a real person and not just something conjured up by Callam. Many of them glared as he passed, upset at having missed out on such a valuable purchase. He was led deep into the crowds, nearly outside of the square. The crowd grew thinner and thinner until finally, the guard stopped in front of a well-dressed woman.

Merlin's guard gave her a curt nod that was supposed to pass for a bow. "That'll be thirteen thousand, m'lady," he grunted. Merlin's eyes widened. That was likely more gold than he'd earned in his ten years working for Arthur.

"Y-yes," she stammered. One of the slaves pulled out a heavy purse, quickly adding coins from a second and then a third pouch until the guard was satisfied. The guard was given the gold, the woman a key, and Merlin became her property.

The Lady clutched the key tightly, eyes now darting between Merlin and the block, where Callam had apparently gotten into an argument with some of the guards. She was clearly trying to decide if she was supposed to do something. At first, Merlin thought he would just leave her – she'd just_ bought_ him, what reason did he have to help her? But then he looked at her properly.

She was tiny, at least a head and a half shorter than Merlin, and her fine clothing didn't fit, hanging loosely about and dwarfing her even more. Her eyes were wide and flitted around the whole square, reminding him of a spooked horse. And they were green – a clear, jade green, that made him think back to little Freesia. In fact, the more he looked at her, the more the Lady looked like a lost, scared child.

"Hello," he said quietly, slipping into the more formal speech one used around nobility. "I'm Merlin, my Lady."

She jumped and stared as if she hadn't known he could talk at all. "Um, h-hello, Merlin."

"Am I allowed to ask your name, Madame?" Merlin risked a glance back at the block – Callam was finishing up his argument. He didn't have much time.

"Agnes. Er – Lady Agnes Orkney."

"Lady Agnes. I know that I – well, I technically am your property. But I would ask you to grant me a boon." He looked back again. Kay was being hauled up on the block, doing his level best to not look terrified and failing completely. "I would ask you to purchase the rest of Callam's lot. It's one man and four women, all with farming and cooking experience. The man is a skilled hunter, and all of them are in good health."

She hesitated, looking to the slaves as if for permission. They continued to stare blankly ahead.

Merlin could hear Callam start his sales pitch, there was no time. He threw caution to the wind. "Please, my Lady, They're the only family I've got left!"

Agnes's eyes snapped to him, finally focusing properly. She stared with such intensity that Merlin felt his whole self was being evaluated; she was looking for the truth. For once in his life, he _could not_ afford to be a bad liar.

She nodded, sharp and quick. One of her slaves behind stepped forward and began the bidding. Now, he could only hope the best.

Kay's auction was over quickly, as farmers came up for sale with alarming regularity. Within minutes he was being hauled over, and his fear visibly lessened on seeing Merlin. Before the boy could open his mouth, Merlin took it upon himself to expand his story.

"Kay, thank God!" He cried. He stared pointedly at Kay as he continued, "Lady Agnes has decided to buy the rest of our family."

"Our – our family?" Kay stammered.

"Yes," he nodded, being sure to maintain eye contact. "Our family."

Kay's eyes widened in understanding. "_Oh!_ Yes, I – that's great! Wonderful!"

Merlin jerked his head towards Lady Agnes. Kay stood for another second before figuring it out. "Oh, right." He dropped to his knees at her feet. "Thank you, my Lady. I owe a great deal to you."

She stared at him open-mouthed and nodded as he stood and met her gaze. Her posture softened, and something in his expression changed. For a moment, bare emotion shone through on their faces. They stood there, blind and deaf to the world, simply trying to understand who (or what) this other person was. It reminded Merlin of something, of someone . . . almost as if he'd done the same thing with someone else, a long time ago.

A group of four hysterical women broke the spell. It was the remainder of Kay's village – their "family." Three guards shoved them forward, having been sold as one lot, apparently. More gold was exchanged – far less than even was spent on Kay – and Lady Agnes announced that she was ready to leave.

As they were lead out of the crowded square, Merlin shuffled closer to Kay. "Keep your eyes open, alright? We don't want to waste any chances," he muttered.

"What?" Kay blinked, then shook himself, and cleared his throat. "Oh, yeah, escape plans. Right. Got it."

Merlin sighed, but couldn't hold back a slight smile.

* * *

**I know I say this every time, but I am really sorry for the lateness. Between SAT testing and technical troubles on both my and my beta's ends, it's still late. Sorry again. (And ****_huge _****thanks to Starkid191 for responding as quickly as she could!)**

**And now I need your help. If you'll remember, Callam escaped from Arthur and the knights last chapter. Now, however, I'm debating whether or not I should change the fate I originally have planned. As soon as I figure out how, I'll be putting up a poll on my profile, if you'd be so kind as to help me decide. It will, however, contain spoilers (obviously).**

**DFTBA!**


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